


Lay Down Beside Me

by starserendipity



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starserendipity/pseuds/starserendipity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mackenzie belongs to Will.  Everyone knows that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This delightful story belongs to my wonderful girlfriend, who asked me to post it here as she does not have an ao3 account. Enjoy!

The moment Sloan knows she’s done for is the moment she spies Mackenzie across the newsroom, counting on her fingers and trying to keep her head up despite Will’s incessant mocking. She gets the right answer eventually (thank God) and she’s so damn proud of herself that Sloan can’t help but smile. She grins into her coffee cup and thinks for a moment how adorable Mackenzie McHale can be sometimes. And then her stomach ties itself up into knots and she has to set her coffee down because her hands have started to shake.

Mackenzie belongs to Will. Sloan knows it; everyone knows it. They’ve known it since the day Mackenzie sent the damn email. She was so desperate for people not to think badly of Will, so eager to rush to his defense, and even when he screamed at her, she just looked at him with those big brown eyes and tried to make him see that she only did it because she cared about him. He exploded in a typical profanity-laden rage and Mackenzie ducked her head and took it the way she always did because there’s a part of Mackenzie that will forever be paying penance for the things she’s done.

Sloan Sabbith knows all of this. She has known this since before anyone else because she heard Mac refer to Will as  _my boyfriend,_ present tense. She has known this since before anyone else because Mackenzie grabbed her by the hand and dragged her back into the office, all earnest eyes and passionate speeches about how Will was the opposite of an ass. Will, who literally screamed and stomped his feet when he didn’t get his way. Will, who swore at a college sophomore. There was something bizarrely naïve about Mackenzie’s impassioned defense of him, and if she were being honest, Sloan had to add that to the list of things she found impossibly endearing about Mackenzie McHale. She was so convinced of the goodness of people, and the rightness of whatever cause she was championing at the moment, and sometimes all Sloan wanted was to be swept away by her feverish optimism.

And for all that, Mackenzie belongs to Will and no matter how badly Sloan wishes, there’s absolutely nothing she can do about it. And maybe Mackenzie is adorable and passionate and articulate and maybe her ass looks fucking amazing in those pencil skirts but there’s absolutely nothing Sloan can do about it.  _Hands off, Sabbith,_  she tells herself sternly, and she manages to believe it for a few hours until Mackenzie calls her office line and asks her to stay behind after the show for a little bit. She says she has something important she needs Sloan’s help with, and Sloan agrees without hesitation. She can’t seem to say no, and she can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble.

* * *

 

“I have been listening very closely,” Mackenzie says in that ridiculously charming accent.

“And?” Sloan prompts her.

“And I do not understand a word you’re saying.”

“Kenzie!” Sloan feels her own incredulousness bubble up and out of her before she can reign it in and has she just given Mackenzie a nickname? It certainly sounds that way. She’s given Mac a nickname, and she kind of likes it, and Mackenzie doesn’t seem to mind as she barrels forward.

“Can we save the scolding, Thomas Friedman?” she says and Sloan has to bite back a laugh. Mackenzie is incredibly competent but every now and then she and Sloan have a conversation like this and Sloan becomes uncomfortably aware of just how much of Newsnight Mac must be pulling out of her ass on the fly. It’s amazing.

“How about I give you three things you can write on your hand?” Sloan quips.

“No, I want to know this!” Mackenzie insists, and she’s so so God damn earnest, so intent on doing the right thing and being better and doing better and making the people around her better and she wants Sloan to teach her about the economy and for a moment Sloan has a bizarre image of the other woman sitting behind the kind of desk she used in high school while Sloan stands in front of a chalkboard and she has to shake her head to make it go away. No high school student should ever wear heels that high or skirts that tight. Ever.

Sloan agrees to help, after a fashion, and slides out of the office. She chances a glance over her shoulder at Mackenzie as she walks away, and through the open door Sloan can see the expression on her face; Mac looks lost, staring at her phone, and Sloan wonders if it’s Wade. She knows there’s something bad happening there but she hasn’t heard what it is yet and she’s waiting for Mackenzie to tell her.

She finds out the next morning, of course; everyone finds out when dayside tries to stick a knife in and Mackenzie’s reputation takes a beating. Sloan wants to find a way to tell her how sorry she is, how much those guys suck, how much Wade sucks, but she can’t. She’s not sure they’re close enough for that yet. She’s not sure they ever will be.

* * *

 

“Can you balance your checkbook?”

“Yes.”

“Kenzie.”

“No.”

Mackenzie just seems so sad tonight, and all Sloan wants to do is help her. She wants to help her make sense of the economy and she wants to make Wade and Will and everything just go away long enough for Mackenzie to smile the way she hasn’t in a very long time. She can only do one of those things tonight, however, so she trots out the new nickname and starts to talk very slowly about the Great Depression and investment and commercial banks. Mac’s not listening, though. Her red-rimmed eyes are on her phone and Sloan is beginning to suspect she’s more than a little tipsy. God damn these cheap cocktails.

“I can’t seem to stop hurting Will,” Mackenzie says, and Sloan wishes it didn’t feel like a punch in the gut. Mackenzie is miserable, trying so hard to be good enough for Will, and Sloan can’t seem to find the words to tell her that she should never have to  _try_  to be good enough for someone.  _Either he loves you or he doesn’t_ , she wants to shout,  _and either way he should grow some balls and tell you so._

She doesn’t say it, though. She’s playing the supportive friend tonight, and probably every night for the rest of forever, so she decides she’s going to do that to the best of her ability.

Which, as it turns out, is rather pitiful.

“That probably just makes you feel worse,” she says, and the look that Mackenzie turns on her is heartbroken. Her eyes are definitely watery now, and Sloan’s beginning to realize she’s not as good a friend as she thought she was.

And then Mac starts to rant and her voice cracks and she covers her mouth to try to keep herself from crying and Sloan has to physically restrain herself from wrapping her arms around her in this bar. Mackenzie is so hurt, so sad, so completely and utterly devastated, and Sloan can’t help the anger that rises in her throat, anger at Will and Wade and the as-of-yet-unnamed ex-boyfriend, all these people who hurt her so irreversibly and never appreciated what they had. Never let her kindness, her passion, her sunny fucking optimism flourish. Mackenzie’s face is getting redder and she’s finding it harder and harder to stay on topic and Sloan has decided that whatever happens, she’s not letting Mackenzie go home by herself.

They’re just going to share a cab, she tells herself. That’s it. She’s worried that Kenzie is too unstable in those fucking heels and it’s late and she couldn’t live with herself if something happened to her friend. She becomes more convinced that this is the right idea when, after they’ve paid for their drinks, Kenzie tries to stand up and teeters dangerously on one heel until Sloan swoops in and slides an arm around her waist.

She steers Mackenzie out into the street and helps into her the cab.

“What’s your address, Kenzie?” she asks, but Mackenzie is looking down at her phone with watery eyes again. Sloan sighs and tells the cabbie to go to her apartment. She has a spare bed and Mac doesn’t have to be in the office until eleven tomorrow morning. She can crash at Sloan’s. It’ll be fine.

Sloan reaches across the seat and physically takes the phone away from Mackenzie, tucking into her own purse. Mackenzie makes a disgruntled little noise and Sloan turns in the seat to face her.

“Kenzie, look at me,” she says, and oh  _god_ but right now Mackenzie has the worst case of drunk-eyes Sloan has ever seen. She’s not going to remember this at all.

“You hurt Will. Will hurt you. Wade hurt you. Maybe you should stop wasting your energy on trying to please them, and start focusing your attentions on what you need. What do you want?”

“I want for Will not to hate me,” Mackenzie whines and Sloan shakes her head.

“I think you want for your relationship with Will to go back to where you were before. Now either you can fix it, and it will, or you can’t fix it and you should stop wasting all this time trying to duct tape the Grand Canyon back together.”

Mackenzie nods and turns to stare silently out the window, and Sloan sheepishly digs the phone out of her purse and drops it back into Kenzie’s lap. She knows she shouldn’t have taken it in the first place, but she just wants to throttle Mackenzie sometimes. Why can’t she stop hurting herself over and over? Why can’t Sloan help her?

The cab pulls up in front of her apartment and Sloan pays the driver before helping Mackenzie out and onto the street. She literally has to hold the other woman up as they make their way to the elevators; Mac is done for the night. Sloan eases her into the guest bed, slides off her shoes and covers her with a blanket; she’s snoring lightly by the time Sloan shuts off the light. Mac is going to hate herself in the morning, but at least this way Sloan won’t be worried about her.

* * *

 

It’s nearly nine and Sloan hasn’t heard a peep out of Mackenzie yet, so she takes a deep breath, pours a glass of water and fetches a bottle of ibuprofen before she slips into the guest bedroom and perches on the side of the bed where Mackenzie is still fast asleep. She looks so peaceful now, the worry and sorrow that had filled the night before all faded in the pale light streaming in through the heavy curtains covering the windows.

“Mac,” she says softly, but the attempt garners no response. She clears her throat and tries again.

“Kenzie,” she says again. Still nothing.

“Kenzie!”

Mac makes an adorable little groaning noise and furrows her brow in confusion, drawing the blankets up closer to her face.

“Kenzie, it’s almost nine o’clock and you have to be at work in two hours and you haven’t showered and you’re wearing yesterday’s clothes and you smell like a wino,” Sloan tells her as nicely as she possibly can. Mac groans again and rubs her hands over her face.

“Leave me here to die,” she whines and Sloan laughs, assured now that Mackenzie is in fact coherent and capable of pulling herself out of this.

“You can shower here if you want,” Sloan offers, and that’s how Mackenzie wound up wearing one of Sloan’s shirts over yesterday’s skirt to the office.

* * *

 

Sloan would never admit this to Mackenzie, but she sneaks into the Paley Center event to see how her student performs. She isn’t surprised that it actually looks like Mackenzie knows what she’s doing; Mac knows how to put on a show, and she knows exactly how to give the appearance of competence without having the expertise to back it up. What does surprise Sloan, however, is how many times Mackenzie drops her name.  _Sloan Sabbith_ keeps falling her lips and Sloan really,  _really_  likes the way that sounds. She also really,  _really_ likes the fact that Mackenzie is wearing her shirt again, the shirt she borrowed and never returned. It looks good on her, and Sloan likes how weirdly proud it makes her. She’ll never tell Mackenzie any of this, but she’ll never ask for that shirt back, either.

* * *

 

In the immediate aftermath of Fukushima and Sloan’s subsequent suspension, Mackenzie decides it’s her turn to take care of her friend. Sloan has been there for her since the beginning, since the very first moment she tried to bond over cheating boyfriends the day Mac told her she’d let her do pole-dancing on the air if it got people to watch. Mac mean that, too; Sloan is gorgeous, impressively, intimidatingly gorgeous, and she’s got a PhD from Duke, and if the only way Mac can get her audience to pay attention to the economy is if a pretty girl tells them to, well then, damn it, Mac is going to put the prettiest girl she can find on the air. Lucky for her, she doesn’t have to look far.

And Sloan has turned out to be so much more than Mackenzie ever expected; Sloan is kind and encouraging and every time this god damn hurt Will has left on Mackenzie’s heart gets opened back up, Sloan is there to help her lick her wounds.

Mackenzie has heard the whispers, of course. That the boyfriend who cheated on Sloan wasn’t so much a boy as he was a female professor of Women’s Studies at Columbia. She’s seen something in her eyes, every now and then when Sloan looks at her, and Mackenzie knows that look very well, even if it’s been a  _very_  long time since she’s seen it directed at her by another woman. Sloan would never, ever do anything about it though, Mackenzie knows, and there’s something kind of sweet (if very, very stupid) about that. Sloan knows all about Mac and Will and Mac and Wade and Mac and Bryan, and Sloan knows that Mac is straight and she knows that they’re friends and she’s content to be a friend. Mac can see the resignation on her face. She knows that Sloan’s mind is already made up.

She also knows that Sloan isn’t working with all of the facts. Like the fact that Bryan is a fiction, an invented name to cover the real reason Will can never forgive Mackenzie; she didn’t sleep with her ex-boyfriend, she fucked another woman for four straight months before Will walked in on them together. She’s been trying to make up for that for three years, and honestly, it was waking up to Sloan’s soft voice that morning all those months ago that first got Mac thinking that made she’d spent enough time trying to make up for it. Maybe she and Will weren’t ever going to get back together, and maybe she hadn’t committed some unforgivable sin. She had loved Will once, but the longer he tortures her over this, refusing to listen to her side of things, the more convinced she becomes that she doesn’t want him to forgive her. She doesn’t want to go back to the way things were. What she really wants is to take Sloan Sabbith out for a drink.

So she does.

* * *

 

Sloan’s face is stormy and she’s in no mood to talk, drinking her beer in an aggressive silence. Mac has taken her to a bar far away from Hang Chew’s, far away from their friends who keep whispering behind their hands about what Sloan did on the air. Mac knows it was stupid, and she knows that Sloan knows it, too. She doesn’t feel the need to rub it in.

It would appear that Sloan has other ideas, however; she’s actively trying to get drunk and it’s halfway through beer number four that she looks at Mac with dark eyes and says, “I know what you’re thinking.”

Right that minute Mac had been thinking about how good Sloan looks in the black Gucci dress she’s stolen from wardrobe, so she’s pretty sure that no, as a matter of fact, Sloan has no idea what she’s thinking. She hums instead of answering, waiting for whatever Sloan has to say. She’s been here before, she knows the routine.

“I fucked up,” Sloan says, and it’s a testament to just how low her alcohol tolerance is that she’s already slurring her words. Mac motions for the check when Sloan’s not looking.

“I made a fucking rookie mistake and I should never be allowed on the air and Daisuke is never going to speak to me ever again. We were friends, Mac, and I betrayed him. On national television.”

“You were trying to do the right thing. You were trying to get the word out about a potentially devastating situation and you were getting screwed over by the interpreter and you were under a lot of pressure and you made a mistake. Get up off the mat, Sabbith. Brush off the dust and let’s get back to work.”

Mac throws a few bills down on the table and stands, extending her hand to Sloan in an extravagant gesture. Sloan stares at her like she’s grown a second head, but she accepts the hand, allowing Mac to steer her out of the bar and into the street.

Mackenzie’s next decision is an easy one. She tells the cab driver her apartment instead of Sloan’s, and when Sloan begins to cry quietly in the seat next to hers, she wraps her arms tightly around her. Sloan buries her face in Mackenzie’s neck and weeps, and Mac lets her, hands drawing soothing circles on her back. Mac won’t tell her that it’s ok, because it’s not, but it will be. She has faith.

By the time they get to her apartment Sloan has stopped crying, but Mackenzie is still holding on to her. She pays the driver and they ease out of the car, and it’s her turn to hold Sloan up as they make their way towards her apartment. “I’m sorry,” Sloan says quietly, but Mac just shakes her head.

“I don’t wanna hear it. You just focus on getting up these stairs, all right?”

Sloan bites her bottom lip between her teeth and keeps her gaze pinned on her feet, putting one foot precisely in front of the other, and Mac tries to keep herself from laughing at the ridiculousness of it until they’re safely up the stairs and she’s unlocking her apartment.

“I don’t have a guest room,” she explains sheepishly, and she watches Sloan process this, her face turning red and then ashen and then red again.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Sloan manages finally, but Mac just laughs and shakes her head.

“No, you can’t, I promise. It’s hideously uncomfortable. Come on, I’ll give you something to change into.”

Sloan hangs her head and follows Mackenzie back to her bedroom, and there are a thousand different things Mac wants to say to her right now but she can’t find the words. She wants to tell Sloan the truth about what happened before, she wants to tell Sloan that everything is going to be all right, and she wants to tell Sloan that every time Sloan looks at her like she wants to kiss her, Mac wants to kiss her right back.

She doesn’t, though. She hands Sloan a t-shirt and a pair of stretchy pants and points her towards the bathroom. She changes her own clothes while Sloan is gone, something not too low cut to decrease the risk of accidental stripping in her sleep, and she offers Sloan a genuine smile when the other woman reemerges. She has to cajole Sloan into her bed but eventually she relents, and Mac tries to hide her triumphant grin as she turns off the light and slides in beside her.

* * *

 

Sloan notices two things almost simultaneously when she wakes up in Mac’s bed the next morning. The first is that she has a splitting headache that makes the very notion of opening her eyes unbearable. The second is that there’s a hand possessively clutching her right breast.

This presents a kind of dilemma for Sloan. One the one hand, she wants to ease Mac’s hand away from her and spare her friend the potential embarrassment of waking up like this. One the other, she wants to stay like this for as long as possible and pretend like maybe, just maybe, Mac’s doing it on purpose. Maybe she wants to.

It takes her entirely too long to make up her mind. Mackenzie is pressed up against every inch of her, curves fitting together the way Sloan always thought they might, and she knows she’s in trouble. Dangerous thoughts are swirling through her throbbing mind, thoughts like how good this feels and how badly she wishes there weren’t any barriers at all between Mackenzie’s hand and her own skin. Thoughts like what kind of sounds Mackenzie might make if Sloan touched her this way. She’s on thin ice and she knows it, but it still takes a herculean effort to gently slide herself away from Mackenzie’s too-intimate embrace and reclaim the far corner of the bed.

* * *

 

Mackenzie holds her breath, waiting for Sloan to move. She’s grateful she woke up first, unaware that during the night she had apparently attached herself to Sloan like a sloth on a log. She supposes she should probably move her hand and slide away slowly, but she doesn’t. She likes the way this feels, holding Sloan so close, and for a moment she lets herself imagine what it might be like to do this on purpose. She wonders what Sloan would think about it, how she might respond.

And that’s why she doesn’t move. She can tell the instant Sloan wakes up; she feels Sloan tense as the placement of Mackenzie’s hand presents her with the same problem Mackenzie herself is still wrestling with. Mac has decided she wants to see how Sloan responds, wants to let her choose how this will play out. And even though she understands it, she can’t help but feel disappointed when Sloan slides away. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

When Sloan feels Mackenzie stir next to her, slowly coming to in the early morning light, she’s grateful for the choice that she made. Whatever feelings she may harbor for the lovely woman curled up beside her this morning, she knows nothing will ever, ever come of it. She wants to spare Mackenzie the embarrassment, and she wants to spare herself the pain of losing this friendship. She will be content with what she has. She will. She has no other choice.

* * *

Mackenzie watches Sloan slide out of bed and make her way to the bathroom, and she sighs softly to herself. A missed opportunity, she thinks. She won’t let it happen again.

* * *

The weeks slip by, and the news keeps running. Finals are quickly approaching for Sloan’s students, and she’s spending more of her daylight hours in the office she shares with three other professors on Columbia’s campus. When she walks in one bright morning toward the end of April, she is pleasantly surprised to find a huge bouquet of flowers in a clear glass vase sitting on her desk. She buries her face among the multicolored blossoms and breathes them in for a moment, smiling softly. She has no idea who sent them, and as she reaches for the card she tries to prepare herself for the possibility that they aren’t meant for her at all. It’s been a long time since anyone bought her flowers.

_Sloan,_ the card reads, and it’s undeniably for her.  _Keep your head up_ is all the message says, and the card is typed, not handwritten, and there’s no signature at the bottom. 

She stares at the flowers for a long time, wondering who could have sent them. It’s been a few weeks since Fukushima and her confidence is slowly coming back to her, but her friends know that every time she has to go on air it’s a struggle. Charlie, or Don, or even Will; they all seem likely, and yet there’s something about the flowers, about the colors and the arrangement and the fact that they were sent  _here_ , and not to ACN, that makes all three of those options unlikely. A fourth option flits through her mind, but she dismisses it quickly. There’s no way Mackenzie sent them.

A brisk knock on the door disturbs her reverie; the office is empty at the moment save for her, and while there’s really only a one-in-four chance that the student at the door is looking for her, she puts on a professional smile and turns around.

Leaning in the doorway wearing blue jeans and Sloan’s favorite shirt is Mackenzie McHale. She looks gorgeous today, Sloan thinks absently; the casual look suits her, and there’s an artful, intentional messiness to the fall of her dark, shiny hair. Mackenzie offers her an impish grin and lifts her hands, showing Sloan the two coffee cups she’s carrying. “I brought breakfast!” Mackenzie says, and steps into the office, offering Sloan one of the cups. She takes it gratefully, wrapping her hands around the cup and trying to keep from staring at Mackenzie in those jeans.

“The flowers are beautiful,” Mac says, reaching out to brush her fingertips across one of the blooms. “Who sent them to you?”

Mackenzie never comes here, ever. Sloan’s not even sure how Mac knew which office was hers. And blue jeans and coffee in the middle of the week? Surely Mac has more important things to do than bring Sloan coffee today, so why is she here?

“I’m not sure,” Sloan answers slowly, eyeing Mackenzie suspiciously over the rim of her coffee cup. “The card wasn’t signed.”

Mackenzie sighs wistfully. “Ah, to be a young again and surrounded by secret admirers.” She grins, and Sloan fights an overwhelming urge to step closer, to kiss that ridiculous smirk right off her face.

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you here,” Sloan says carefully, “I am. I just…what the hell are you doing here, Mackenzie?”

Kenzie laughs and flits away, staring out the window into the street beyond. “It’s nothing nefarious, I can assure you,” she says, her lips sliding over the vowels in that way that makes Sloan’s knees tremble. “I just miss the pleasure of your company.” Mackenzie turns her head, smirks at Sloan over her shoulder before resuming her study of the world beyond the office. “I know you’ll be around more once the term is over. I just wanted you to know that I miss you.”

Mackenzie misses her? They’ve seen each other every day! Sloan’s mind swirls, confused and maybe a little angry, too. She’s beginning to get the sense that Mackenzie is playing with her, and she doesn’t like that. Kenzie may be adorable, but she’s also a grown ass woman, and so is Sloan. Sloan doesn’t play games, especially not with straight girls who are still in love with their ex-boyfriends. She sighs into her coffee and allows herself an extra moment to appreciate Mackenzie’s ass in those jeans.

* * *

Mackenzie has been orchestrating all of this very carefully from the moment Sloan slid away from her in bed three weeks ago. She’s been as deliberate in her flirtations as she can allow herself to be with Will working thirty feet away from her. She sent the flowers, but refused to sign the card, half of her hoping Sloan would figure it out and the other half desperately hoping she wouldn’t. Mackenzie stepped in, sent Jim instead of Sloan to the conference with Don and Elliott just so Sloan would have no excuse to skip Will’s party on Sunday. And when she sees Sloan in that dark emerald cocktail dress, well, she decides to ramp up her efforts.

The plan is put into motion the second Sloan steps into Will’s apartment. Mackenzie glides towards her, trying to be as graceful as possible. She hugs Sloan, holding on for a beat longer than is prudent, and when they separate with breathless smiles, she slides her hand down to the small of Sloan’s back, using it to guide her through the party.

Mackenzie leans in conspiratorially as they walk, her hand never loosing contact with Sloan’s body. She whispers a litany of little secrets to Sloan; who’s drunk, who’s not, who’s high, who might have the necessary tools to help other people get high, who’s been touching who inappropriately for the last fifteen minutes. The color is high in Sloan’s face but she’s smiling and laughing and leaning closer to Mackenzie with every step, and Mac can’t help but think this is a good sign.

* * *

Sloan’s pretty sure that Mac is drunk. It’s the only explanation she can come up with. Mackenzie hasn’t stopped touching her all night, save for a brief moment near the beginning of the party when she slipped away with an apologetic expression to berate Will into giving a brief speech to his guests. That mission accomplished, she returned with fresh drinks for both of them, and a fresh hell for Sloan. When they stand near the balcony, laughing and talking with Charlie and Maggie, Mackenzie’s fingertips brush the back of Sloan’s hand. When Maggie turns to leave, Mackenzie leans over Sloan, gentle hand on her bare shoulder, and whispers something to the girl. Sloan goes to refresh their drinks, and Mac reaches out, fingers trailing across her elbow and forearm, asking for something Sloan promptly forgets.

When they move to sit on Will’s couch Mackenzie has crossed her legs like a lady, but her bare calf keeps brushing against Sloan’s knee and every place their skin touches comes alight with a fire Sloan can only barely control. Every time Mackenzie touches her, Sloan only wants more, and every time Mackenzie touches her, Sloan can feel her ire rising.  

They’re in Will’s apartment and Mackenzie is comfortable, at home amidst the pristine glass and expensive guitars, and her air of gentle ease only serves to remind Sloan that this Mackenzie’s place. She tries to remember Mackenzie crying in the bar, devastated over hurting Will, only wanting to fix what they had. Mackenzie belongs to Will. Sloan knows it; everyone knows it.

But Mackenzie won’t stop touching Sloan and there’s something knowing in her dark eyes that has Sloan more and more convinced that she’s doing it on purpose. She looks nice tonight, hair perfectly curled, her black pants form fitting and her blouse loose but neat. Sloan watches the light play off the necklace sparkling around her throat, and takes another drink. It’s going to be a long night.

“What are you doing after the party?” Mackenzie asks, leaning in so close that Sloan can smell her perfume, one pale calf brushing against Sloan’s. It takes a moment for the words to register.

“I- I don’t-“

Charlie interrupts the party. “The President’s speaking in ninety minutes on a matter of national security-“

Mackenzie stands up, breaking off their contact and suddenly everyone is moving. “Four people to a cab, let’s go!” she calls and everyone in the room is on their feet, moving towards the elevators. Sloan starts to follow, but Mackenzie reaches out and grabs her hand, stopping her in place.

“Ride with me?” she asks, and Sloan nods dumbly. All playfulness has disappeared from Mackenzie’s features, and now she seems determined, apprehensive, but she has asked Sloan to ride with her and Sloan cannot help but agree.

They share a cab with Martin and a booker Sloan doesn’t recognize. The booker slides into the passenger seat, leaving Sloan, Martin and Mackenzie to squeeze in the back. Mackenzie sits in the middle, and though she is intently focused on her phone, calls and texts and emails flying with expert diligence, she is leaning against Sloan the whole time, pressed against her almost absentmindedly, and Sloan wishes she didn’t enjoy the feeling as much as she does. They arrive at ACN all too quickly, and it’s back to work for everyone.

* * *

 It’s not a night Sloan is likely to forget anytime soon. It’s tense and hectic and there’s a sense of relief that washes over everyone once they’re sure that it’s bin Laden, and not a national emergency. Once the broadcast gets going she leans up against the door in the control room and watches Mackenzie. She’s pulled her hair back, and if anything, she looks even more radiant than before. Mackenzie’s balancing Will and Jane in Washington, she’s ordering graphics on the fly and she’s got four different people talking to her all at once but she hears each one of them and gives them each the right answers.

The broadcast goes on longer than Sloan expected; Obama speaks and Will stays behind the anchor desk for another hour or so after the speech, fielding calls from experts and Mackenzie is behind it all, every eye turned to her as she choreographs this bizarre routine. Every once in a while Mackenzie turns around, just checking to see if Sloan is still there. Mackenzie offers her a little smile before getting back to whatever it is she’s supposed to be doing, but knowing that Mackenzie is still looking for her keeps Sloan rooted to the spot.

When it’s finally over, Mac dismisses the boys in the control room, shaking each of their hands and thanking them for a job well done. As the room empties, Mac’s eyes find Sloan’s in the semi-darkness, and a frisson of electricity shoots through Sloan. It’s late, but a nervous energy has overtaken everyone in the newsroom; they all went from halfway drunk to adrenaline-rushed professionalism faster than could be believed, and though their part of the broadcast is over now, that same adrenaline is still there, coursing through them, and it’s going to be a long time before anyone involved with this broadcast is able to sleep. Except for Will, who had to be practically carried out of the office by Lonny. He’s probably already done for the night.

Eventually the control room is empty and it’s just Sloan and Mackenzie. Mac sidles over to her, running a tired hand over her face, and Sloan offers her a wan smile.

“You were amazing tonight,” she says, meaning every word of it, and the look Mackenzie gives her grateful.

“It was team effort,” she makes an attempt at humility before smiling up at Sloan from beneath thick eyelashes. “But thank you.”

Sloan doesn’t want this night to end. She wants to stay in this room with Mackenzie, wants to hear her tinkling little laugh and watch her smile and she wants to pretend that Will and everything that comes along with him never happened. Mackenzie reaches out, brushes a rebellious lock of hair back behind Sloan’s ear. The touch is intimate, too intimate, and Sloan can’t help her sharp intake of breath. Mac’s fingers linger a beat too long on the curve of Sloan’s ear. Sloan’s done for and she knows it.

“I really, really don’t want to go home alone tonight,” Mackenzie says softly, and her brown eyes hold Sloan’s gaze with a steady certainty that she never expected. Sloan thinks she should probably say no, she should probably make an excuse and turn around and get out of this room as quickly as possible, but the way Mackenzie’s bangs are falling across her face and the hopeful little smile tugging at the corner of her lips has absolutely done Sloan in.

“Me neither,” she admits.

* * *

They’re both silent for the duration of the cab ride from ACN to Mac’s apartment, and she’s grateful for this because it gives her time to think. She’s got Sloan in the seat next to her, all crossed legs and tense lines, trying to take up as little space as possible when all Mackenzie wants is for Sloan to relax and close up the distance between them. Mac needs a plan and she knows it, but the strategy she has been operating under up until now really only dealt with getting Sloan into the cab. She has no road map for what comes next.

She knows what she wants, of course. She wants to see what’s underneath that cocktail dress and she wants to know how Sloan’s lips feel pressed up against her neck and she wants to hear what kind of sounds Sloan would make when she’s naked in her bed, and when she wakes up tomorrow she wants to have her arms around Sloan and not feel guilty about it. Mackenzie wants all of these things; she just has no idea how to make any of it happen, and Sloan is not helping in the slightest.

They come to a stop outside her apartment building and Mac pays the driver then steps out of the cab. She starts to walk away when she realizes that Sloan isn’t right behind her.

“Kenzie,” Sloan says softly, and Mac fights back the urge to sigh.  _So close._

“Get out of the car, Sloan,” she says as kindly as she can, but Sloan just shakes her head.

“Look, Mackenzie, it’s late, and we’ve both had a really long night and we’re both really stressed out and I just don’t want us to do something that either of us might regret tomorrow.”

Mac does sigh now. “Sloan, please, get out of the car. Sir?” she says, leaning forward to address the driver, “Do you mind to wait for just a minute, please?”

The driver shrugs. “Meter’s running,” he says, and Sloan steps reluctantly out of the car.

“Kenzie-“ Sloan starts, but Mac cuts her off.

“I would like, very much, for you to come upstairs with me,” she says. “I would like for us to go into my apartment, and close the door, and then I would like to kiss you.”

Sloan stares back at her, dumbfounded, for so long that Mackenzie is actually starting to lose some of the overwhelming confidence that had helped her propel them this far. Had she not read the signs correctly? Was this whole attraction simply a figment of her imagination, designed to keep her beleaguered mind off of Will? She blushes, and Sloan finally finds her tongue.

“I really,  _really_  want that, Kenzie,” Sloan says sadly, “but-“

“But what?”

“I don’t fool around with straight girls,” Sloan says, looking her square in the eye, and Mac can’t help the blush that colors her cheeks.

“It’s not my first time at the rodeo,” she says, adding a grin she hopes is roguish, and Sloan’s eyes go comically wide. “And if you stay, I’ll tell you all about it in the morning, I promise.” Mackenzie leans past her, pays the cab driver a little extra for his trouble, and takes Sloan by the hand. “Come upstairs,” she says, and Sloan nods silently.

Mac leads the way up to her apartment, her fingers interlocked with Sloan’s and her heart pounding wildly in her chest. They’ve come this far, and Sloan is still with her, still holding on. She wonders how this will change things, wonders if Sloan really will stay the night. She does her best not to think about Will and what he would do if he ever found out about this. She’s tired of being cursed by Will McAvoy. She’s ready to do something for no other reason than that she wants to. And right now, right this moment, she wants Sloan. She’s wanted Sloan since the day she woke up in the other woman’s bed, and she’s tired of denying herself the chance to be happy. She’s taking a chance, and Sloan is still holding her hand.

* * *

By the time they get to Mac’s apartment, Sloan has managed to get her breathing under control. She hadn’t anticipated any of this, hadn’t planned for it. She had been perfectly content to stew in self-imposed isolation and longing from a distance, safe in the knowledge that no matter how badly she wanted Mackenzie, Mac would always belong to Will and there was no danger of heartache because there was no danger of deepening their attachment.

But this isn’t Mac’s first time at the rodeo and she wants to kiss Sloan and maybe more than that (probably almost definitely more than that) and now Sloan knows she’s working without a net. There’s no coming back from this; Mac is opening her door and holding it open with that same impish grin on her face and it’s now or never.

Sloan steps into the apartment and takes a moment to breathe it in, to get a good look at this place. The last time she was here she was entirely too drunk, too tired, and too out of sorts to take notice of anything, and now she sees brightly colored pillows and expensive art and naked windows staring out into the city beyond and it’s  _lovely._ She turns around to say something to Mac about it, but Mac has locked the door and is leaning up against it, staring at Sloan with the kind of expression that can only be described as hungry. Whatever compliments she was about to give have died on Sloan’s tongue, and she steps closer to Mackenzie, close enough to breathe in the smell of her, almost close enough to feel the other woman’s heartbeat reverberate against her chest.

“Are you sure?” Sloan asks, her voice just this side of a whisper, close enough for Mackenzie to feel the words brush against her lips.

Mackenzie nods, her hands coming to rest on Sloan’s hips, and it’s all the permission Sloan needs to close the space between them. The moment her lips land on Mackenzie’s she’s lost.

The kiss is slow, slow and soft, Sloan’s lips working against Mackenzie’s while she tugs Mackenzie’s hair loose from her ponytail. She lets it fall over her hands in a tumble, twining her fingers through the strands and pulling Mackenzie closer. Mac smiles against her lips, tongue darting out to taste her before she retreats, making Sloan follow into the warm, wet haven of her mouth.

They’re in this now, tongues sliding together, Mac’s hips pushing against Sloan’s, trying to bring them closer even as Sloan holds her in place against the door. Kissing Mac is exactly what Sloan always thought it would be- consuming. Her thoughts fade into the background, her actions controlled only by her desire to feel and taste and hear as much of Mackenzie as she can. She pulls away for just a moment, eyes dark and searching. Mackenzie is breathless, cheeks flushed and her lips red and shining in the darkness.

“Please,” she says, and Sloan smiles, leaning in to kiss her again. They begin an awkward dance, a rush away from the door and towards Mackenzie’s bedroom. They’re both in heels and both unwilling to release the other’s lips for more than a moment as they bounce off the couch, the walls, the door frame, until Sloan finally pushes Mac down to land with as much grace as she can muster on her own unmade bed. Mackenzie pushes herself back against the pillows and grins, breathless and inviting, up at Sloan.

Sloan kicks off her heels, reaches behind and slowly unzips her dress, letting Mackenzie take in the sight of her undressing at the foot of this bed. Sloan needs the moment to catch her breath, and to make sure, one last time, that this is what Mackenzie wants. Mac licks her lips and props herself up on her knees, waiting patiently for Sloan to finish stripping and join her.

At first Sloan’s only intention was to get out of the dress and lay it somewhere flat to keep it from wrinkling, but there’s something about Mackenzie’s gaze, something so needy, so captivating about her that Sloan doesn’t stop until she’s completely naked. There’s something so unavoidably personal about standing here bare while Mackenzie looks on fully clothed, and it’s private and it’s intimate in a way that Sloan hasn’t been with anyone in a long time. She’s glad that she’s sharing this with Mackenzie, because she knows, after everything that’s happened, Mac’s not the kind of woman to undertake something like this lightly. She knows she can trust Mackenzie, and when she slides forward, lips colliding with Mac’s, she’s glad she got out of the cab.

Sloan pushes them both back against the pillows where they land with a  _thump_ and a chorus of giggles. Mac’s hands map the plane of Sloan’s back, from elegant shoulders to the dimples just above her ass, and further down, as far as she can reach, squeezing, searching, learning the texture of her. Sloan pushes her knee between Mackenzie’s legs, rewarded with a little moan and Mackenzie grinding her hips down in desperate need of _more._

When Sloan breaks the kiss to move on to uncharted territory, she is rewarded with Mackenzie’s vocalizations. Every kiss, every lick, every nibble merits a moan, a whimper, a sigh from those pretty lips, and Sloan is enjoying every single one of them as her own mouth slides over Mackenzie’s collar bones and her fingers try to figure out how the hell Mac’s pants work.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mac gasps, and Sloan’s heart sinks in her chest.  _Not now,_ she thinks, almost a prayer,  _not now._

But then Mac is grinning and pushing her over and now it’s Mackenzie straddling Sloan’s hips, dark hair falling over her face and Sloan has to laugh at how relieved she is.

“It’s just not fair,” Mac says, leaning forward to pepper Sloan’s chest with kisses, “for you to be this gorgeous. Just not fair,” she emphasizes every word with a kiss, her lips coming to rest around one already-taut nipple while her hands draw nonsense patterns along Sloan’s sides and suddenly Sloan can’t breathe. All she can feel is Mackenzie, and all she wants is to stay this way forever.

Sloan arches her back, pressing herself closer to Mackenzie’s mouth, and Mac rewards her with just the barest hint of teeth and long, slender fingers sliding across her stomach and heading for the warmth and wet between her legs. It’s a testament to how long Sloan’s been waiting for this moment that by the time Mac’s fingers reach her she’s already wet, but Mackenzie’s just taking her time, dragging her fingers up and down, learning the territory before exploring further and it’s making Sloan absolutely, positively, crazy.

She moans and bucks her hips against Mac’s hand, and Mac lifts her head, grinning.

“Yes, darling?” she says, and she’s simultaneously so adorable and so evil that Sloan just groans and grinds against her hand and hopes that Mackenzie gets the message.

She does, apparently, because she slides down Sloan’s body, leaving little suckling kisses on each of her ribs, her navel, her hip, until she’s kneeling between Sloan’s legs with a look of wanton determination on her face. She’s still fully dressed, heels and everything, and Sloan thinks she’s going to absolutely lose her mind tonight. She’s pretty sure it’s already happened.

Mackenzie leans forward, presses a kiss to the inside of Sloan’s thigh, and then watches as her own finger disappears inside Sloan’s tight, wet heat. Sloan shudders and moans and  _God_ it feels good, but it’s nowhere near enough.

“More,” she gasps, and Mac nips playfully at her thigh.

“Shhh,” she says. “Relax. I don’t know about you, but I have been entirely too long for this to rush now.”

Sloan doesn’t get a chance to process that because Mac has pillowed her head on Sloan’s thigh and is working that same one finger in and out, in and out, deeper every time, twisting, searching, listening to the way Sloan’s breath hitches in her throat. She finally adds a second finger and Sloan bears down on her hand, desperate for more. Mackenzie just keeps it up, a slow and steady rhythm, fingers plunging in as deep as she can get them, curling to find that rough spot just inside that will make Sloan fall apart. Sloan actually whimpers when she finds it and Mackenzie grins at her but doesn’t linger. Apparently, she meant what she said about not rushing.

It’s been a long time since Sloan’s been with anyone quite this way. Mackenzie isn’t just trying to get Sloan to fuck her; she’s trying to learn what Sloan likes, what she feels like, what buttons to press. Sloan can practically see the wheels turning in Mackenzie’s mind as she makes a mental note of which spots to return to during future conquests and that prospect is too scary for Sloan to linger on now. Instead she enjoys the image Mac presents, still dressed and still watching herself slowly, slowly, slowly fuck Sloan into oblivion.

Mackenzie brings her free hand into play and starts a gentle search for the tiny pearl of Sloan’s clit and Sloan groans and throws her head back against the pillows, completely surrendering herself to this moment. Mac picks up the pace, rubbing Sloan’s clit with one hand in time to the ever harder strokes of the other, now three fingers deep inside Sloan, and it’s only a matter of moments before Sloan feels the familiar tightening in her belly. The breath is torn from her lungs in a cry of Mackenzie’s name as she comes, her walls clutching Mackenzie’s fingers deep, deep inside her and refusing to let go.

And for her part Mackenzie stays with her for all of it, keeping the fingers inside her still and easing off her clit, dropping gentle kisses on her thigh and waiting for Sloan’s breath to come back and her eyes to finally open. When they do, it’s to see Mackenzie, red cheeked and breathless, smiling up at her with an affection that scares the bejeezus out of Sloan.

“Come up here,” she says, her words embarrassingly slurred, and Mackenzie does as she’s told, sliding up Sloan’s body and fitting their mouths back together. It feels too good for Sloan to let her worries get the best of her, and besides, Mackenzie is still dressed. She needs to do something about that immediately.

Sloan’s hands make their way to the hem of Mackenzie’s shirt, but Mac swats them away playfully, climbing off of Sloan to stand beside the bed.

“It’s only fair that I return the favor,” she says, and Sloan bites back a moan as Mac tugs her shirt up and off.  Sloan thinks she could spend the rest of her life watching Mackenzie McHale disrobe for her, and when Mac is finally done, she props her hands on her hips and stares down at Sloan defiantly. She is, quite possibly, the loveliest woman Sloan has ever seen.

Sloan holds out her arms and Mackenzie comes to her, fingers tangling in her jet-black hair while Sloan begins an exploration of her own. Hands run over Mackenzie’s back, her neck, the little scar on her belly and the firm full mounds of breasts. Sloan thinks she could spend the rest of her life buried face-first in Mackenzie’s breasts and she’d still die wishing she’d had more time there.

It’s Sloan’s turn to flip them and Mac goes with her willingly, spreading her legs to cradle Sloan’s body between them. Mackenzie is all soft, pale skin and welcoming warmth, and Sloan wants to kiss every inch of her; she’s just not sure she has Mackenzie’s patience.

Mackenzie’s fingertips brush against the smattering of freckles on Sloan’s cheeks, a look of wonderment on her face, and Sloan decides that while she may not be very patient, she is absolutely going to make this worth Mackenzie’s while.

By the time Sloan’s mouth settles between Mac’s legs, she’s already wet and moaning. Sloan breathes her in for a moment, the deep, heady smell of her, and Mackenzie catches her fingers in Sloan’s hair, hips already canting up towards her lover’s mouth in anticipation. Sloan can’t help but grin. 

She takes one long lick up the full length of Mackenzie’s folds, enjoying the long, lingering sigh she receives as her reward before she sets to work, sliding just the tip of her tongue inside Mackenzie, tasting just the barest of hint of what’s to come. A steady steam of “please” and “more” is flowing past Mac’s lips and Sloan can’t help but think how much she  _loves_ how vocal Mac is. The words are encouraging.

Sloan fucks Mac with her tongue until she’s sure the other woman is right on the edge of losing control before she slides her lips up, searching searching until they finally wrap around Mackenzie’s clit and Sloan plunges two fingers deep inside her. Mac screams, hips chasing Sloan’s fingers until she’s coming with a rush of moisture against Sloan’s hand.

 Sloan stretches out alongside her sweaty, gasping lover, dropping gentle kisses along her shoulder, fingers playing in the wetness between her legs while Mac comes back to herself. When she’s finally able she turns in Sloan’s embrace, laying a warm hand across Sloan’s cheek and kissing her languidly.

Their post-coital haze is interrupted by the incessant buzzing of Mackenzie’s cell phone. Sloan is closer, so she reaches for it. She sees the name on the caller id and her stomach drops.

“It’s Will,” she says, holding it out to Mackenzie.

Mac takes the phone from her, and then tosses it back to the floor.

“If it’s important, he’ll leave a message,” she says, pulling Sloan back into her arms. “Now, where were we?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

When Sloan wakes up the first thing she sees is Mackenzie’s face. Mac has draped herself over Sloan and is sleeping deeply, her hair spilling across Sloan’s chest and their legs tangled together under messy sheets. Sloan smiles and drops a kiss on Mackenzie’s head. She still can’t quite believe that last night was real, that she’s really here, holding Mackenzie in the stillness of the morning, and she wants this moment to last forever.

It doesn’t, though; Mackenzie is stirring now, and when she finally opens her eyes, Sloan can see her own smile mirrored on Mackenzie’s features. Mac lifts her head, brown eyes huge and sleepy, and Sloan just has to kiss her.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Morning,” Mackenzie hums, propping herself up on her elbows to kiss Sloan properly. This is nice, this easy companionship, the way their lips slip and slide together in a slow, unhurried dance. Sloan could get used to this.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Mackenzie asks when they finally separate.

“That depends,” Sloan quips, “what are my options?” Sloan knows Mackenzie well enough by now to be apprehensive about anything the other woman might try to cook for her. Mackenzie catches her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I think I may have some bread, so…toast? And….coffee?” she says sheepishly, and she’s so adorable Sloan just has to kiss her again.

“Why don’t we take a shower,” she suggests, “and then we can go out and grab something to eat on our way into work?”

Mackenzie nods, yawning. “That sounds lovely. Just let me check my messages first.”

She leans all the way over Sloan to rummage around in the mess of clothes on the floor, searching for her phone, and Sloan takes a moment to run the pads of her fingers over the soft skin of Mackenzie’s back. The other woman shivers under her touch, kissing her again before flopping next to her on the pillows, eyes intent on her phone.

“Anything from Will?” Sloan asks, trying to sound nonchalant. She hates the way the specter of that past relationship looms over their heads, but if Mackenzie doesn’t mind, Sloan supposes she shouldn’t either. Mac shakes her head.

“Nothing. Must not have been important.”

It takes a few more moments for Mackenzie to be absolutely certain that there’s nothing of earth-shattering importance waiting for her at work before she takes Sloan by the hand and drags her out of bed and into the bathroom.

* * *

Mackenzie’s shower is small, but she’s determined to make this work. At the moment she has Sloan pressed back against the cold tile, her lips dragging the long column of Sloan’s neck while her knee grinds against Sloan’s center. Mackenzie loves this, messy and slippery and impossible as it may be. She loves the way Sloan giggles when Mac’s feet almost slide out from underneath her, and the way the giggle changes to a throaty moan when Mac wraps her lips around one of Sloan’s nipples and sucks. She loves the way Sloan’s long, slender fingers tangle in her wet hair, pulling just a little while Sloan moans her name, “Kenzie”, in that voice that shoots straight down between her legs.

It’s not that hard to slide to her knees in this space, to look up through her thick eyelashes and see Sloan above her, panting, catching her lip between her teeth. Sloan’s fingers are still tangled up in Mackenzie’s hair but it feels good. It feels right. And Mackenzie likes this position, cramped though it may be, because her chances of falling over and completely embarrassing herself have greatly decreased. She encourages Sloan to drape one of her legs over Mac’s shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” Mackenzie whispers, placing gentle kisses on the inside of Sloan’s thigh while the hot water beats down on them from above. Sloan relaxes at her words. Mac just grins, and sinks her teeth into the sensitive skin where Sloan’s leg meets her hip.

Sloan shudders, groans, bucks against Mackenzie’s face, but she never tries to pull away. If anything, she tries to pull Mac closer, hands still caught in the damp weight of her hair.

That’s enough encouragement for Mackenzie.

Sloan is already wet when Mackenzie drags her tongue through her soft folds before settling on her clit, flicking it with the tip of tongue and listening to the way Sloan cries out, desperate for more. Mac raises her hand, slides two fingers deep, deep inside of Sloan, thrusting in time with the strokes of tongue against Sloan’s clit until she feels that familiar tightening around her fingers. She keeps up her rhythm as long as she can, grinning at the fact that Sloan is making these sounds here, in her shower, because of her. Finally Mackenzie relents, and Sloan pulls her to feet, kissing her deeply and shivering at the taste of herself on Mackenzie’s tongue.

* * *

They stop for bagels and coffee at a place near Mackenzie’s apartment and they pick a table near the back to eat and chat.  _This is nice,_ Sloan thinks. There’s no pressure, just the two of them enjoying each other’s companionship and the occasional knowing glance as they each remember the events of the night before. But there’s something that’s been weighing on Sloan’s mind, and she doesn’t want to walk back into the ACN building without an answer.

“Kenzie,” she says, and Mac looks up from her coffee cup with an eyebrow raised, “You said something to me last night. You said if I stayed you’d tell me all about it in the morning.”

Mac nods, takes a long drink from her cup. “I wanted to tell you the truth about what happened between me and Will,” she says slowly, and Sloan would give anything to keep her from saying his name again while they’re alone like this. Mackenzie takes a long moment to gather her thoughts, and Sloan’s stomach is twisting itself into knots.

“I never told him about the women,” she says finally. “I told him about my ex-boyfriends, but I never told him about the women. He was - is – a great guy, and he loved me and I loved him and I cheated on him with my ex-girlfriend. Her name is Sarah. She works at the Times-“

Sloan chokes. “Oh God, not Sarah Beranger?” she says in dismay. Mackenzie bites her lower lip and nods. “Oh, Kenzie, she does not have a good reputation.”

“It’s well earned. Sarah was always a risk. Being with her was like playing with matches; I always knew one day I’d get burned, but I was enchanted by the spark.” Mackenzie can be oddly poetical when she wants to be. “Anyway, it started four months before Will and I broke up. She’d call me, and most of the time I’d say no, but if Will and I were having trouble, if I was angry with him or he was angry with me, I couldn’t find any reason to stay away and she’d call me and I’d let her come over. And then Will and I had a terrible week, and I told him I was going out of town for the weekend, and he had a key to my place and he’d left something there, a shirt or something, and he came by to get it and-“

“She was there,” Sloan finishes for her. Mac nods glumly.

“I think I was scared, you see,” Mac presses on valiantly. “Will loved me so much, and I knew he was thinking about marriage and it terrified me. I think there was a part of me that was so scared I was willing to sabotage that relationship myself. And then he found out about Sarah, and he left me, and she was just so awful about it… I realized then how foolish I’d been. I loved him. I would have married him, if he asked. I think we could have been happy together. But I ruined everything. I’m not making excuses,” she adds quickly. “There’s no excuse for that. I just-“

“You need someone to understand why you did it,” Sloan supplies.

To her surprise, Mackenzie shakes her head. “No that’s not it.” Mac reaches across the table, takes Sloan’s hand in hers. “I need  _you_ to understand. I need you to understand that I would never,  _ever_  do anything like that ever again. I know about your fiancée, and if there’s any chance, any chance at all that you and I- that we could- maybe, one day, maybe be  _something_ then I need you to know that it was the biggest mistake of my life and I learned my lesson and I will never give you a reason not to trust me.”

It’s a lot to take in. Sloan threads her fingers through Mackenzie’s and studies her face, the openness, the honesty of her expression. She never considered, not for a moment, what might come after this, what might follow if she acted on her desires, but Mackenzie has. Mackenzie has thought about Sloan, and her past, and Mackenzie’s thinking about their future, too. It’s a prospect Sloan is completely unprepared for, but it’s not unwelcome.

“Kenzie-“

“Oh God, I’ve said too much,” she cries, covering her face in embarrassment, and Sloan has to reach across the table to take both of Mackenzie’s hands in her own.

“No. It means a lot to me that you’ve put so much thought into this. It really, really does. And if you and I could maybe be  _something_ , well, I think I’d like to see how that would work. And I want you to know that I do trust you. Completely.”

Sloan hadn’t really thought about it until the words came spilling out, but she knows it’s true. She trusts Mac implicitly.

_I am so fucked,_ she thinks as Mac gives her a watery smile. 


End file.
